


free to ever slumber

by oathsworn (onelastchence)



Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: But it's also what didn't happen, I'm good at tags, M/M, Wangho dies and this is what happens next
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 19:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onelastchence/pseuds/oathsworn
Summary: Everyone has regrets, don't they? Steps left untaken, words left unsaid. Those words, Wangho let those words die on the tip of his tongue, like a coward.





	free to ever slumber

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [ ffxiv's lakshmi ost](https://youtu.be/BiUp3DpksQY). i originally had planned for it to just be a placeholder title, but it fit more than i expected, and so it stayed.
> 
> thank you to angel for the beta \o/

“Hello.”

 

Wangho struggles to open his eyes. He’s weak. He can hear his family’s movement around him, his grandson’s hand clutching his own, his wife wiping the sweat off his face. But the voice is calling to him, and something inside of him is yelling at him to respond.

 

He opens his eyes after some time, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden brightness. His family is still around him, but they don’t seem to notice the man standing at the foot of his bed. Wangho wonders if he’s already dead, because the person standing at the foot of his bed is _him_.

 

“You look confused,” The person says, smiling. “I don’t blame you. But it’s time to go.”

 

“Go?” Wangho asks. “Go where?”

 

“You know where we’re going,” He says, holding a hand out. There’s suddenly a lot of commotion, and Wangho turns to see the machine next to him flatlining, and his family’s panicked voices echoing around him. “Come on.”

 

“Who are you?” Wangho asks, taking the hand. “Are you me?”

 

“No,” The person laughs, as he starts to walk. Wangho quickly follows behind him, glancing back worriedly at his grieving family, but knowing there was nothing more he could do for them. “I’m not a person. I’m a concept, I guess you could say. You know how they say Grim Reapers come collect souls? I’m Potential, Regret, whatever word you want to use. I’m the person you could have been, if you’d made the choices that you hadn’t.”

 

Something clenches in Wangho’s gut, and he finds he doesn’t want to go with this… Concept. He doesn’t really want to face what he knows they’ll tell him.

 

“You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” The person chuckles. “You’re not obligated to, and I won’t force feed you any information you don’t want to hear. I’m just hear in case you’re curious, and to guide you so you don’t get lost.”

 

“You know what I’m thinking?”

 

“Well, I _am_ supposed to be you,” The person laughs. “I can take on the form of whoever I’m guiding, and I become them, in a sense. I’m an entity that has lived every possible life you could have lived, except the one that you _have_. It’s entirely plausible that you have regrets.”

 

“All of it?” Wangho asks, coming to a pause. The person stops walking, too, and seems to know what’s going through Wangho’s mind. “Even- Even the one where I-”

 

The person nods. “Even that one.”

 

Wangho swallows, looking down at his hands. If there was one thing that he regretted most in his life, it was hurting _him._ He could still remember the forlorn, but accepting expression, feel the imprint of his last kiss on his forehead, the warmth of that embrace.

 

“Were you happy?”

 

The person blinks once, then nods, saying matter-of-factly, as though there was no way that Wangho could not have been happy: “Very much so.”

 

Wangho looks up, then, face pale. “Can you tell me about it?”

 

The person tilts his head, as though scrutinizing Wangho’s expression. It’s a little weird, to see his own face, like that, staring at him. Then the person smiles, and he shakes his head. “I don’t have to tell you.” He says, and Wangho’s throat tightens. “That’s what I’m here for; I can _show_ you.”

 

He vanishes, then, and Wangho wonders if he’d just fallen asleep, and this was naught but a dream. Bright light fills his vision, blinding him, and Wangho squeezes his eyes shut.

 

“Hey, loser, why’re you zoning out?”

 

Wangho shakes his head, blinking. Haneul’s standing in front of him, hands crossed in front of his chest with a scowl on his face. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a minute now, geez,” He complains, and Wangho won’t ever admit this out loud, but he’s missed Haneul. Ever since he left Sungu that night, Haneul had cut off all ties with him. “What’s got you in such deep thought?”

 

“N-Nothing,” Wangho replies, laughing awkwardly. He couldn’t exactly say it was because he had no idea where he was, or what he was doing prior to being thrust into this situation. He tilts his head, blinking. “Why’re you in a suit?”

 

Haneul makes a face at him, then leans forward to touch his hand to his forehead. “Are you sick or something? Smack your head against the door, maybe?”

 

Someone pokes his head in through said door, and Wangho blinks when he realizes that it’s Kiin, of all people. “The procession’s starting in 5 minutes, so get ready.”

 

The _procession_? Wangho mouths, then looks down at himself. He’s in a suit, too, and Kiin had been as well. He looks around him, then, noticing that he’s alone in this room with Haneul, and he almost feels as though he’s-

 

He’s at a _wedding._   _His_ wedding. To _Sungu._

 

Bile wells up in Wangho’s throat. Sungu had always told him of his dreams to get married, how he wanted to, after they both retired, maybe get a job that allowed them to work remotely, and purchase a house near the sea. Wangho remembers Sungu mentioning Taean, because it’s almost equidistant from both Seoul and Daejeon, allowing them to visit their parents more conveniently.

 

“Oh, my son!”

 

Wangho looks up at the feminine voice, and he starts trembling when his mother walks in through the door. “Mom,” He starts, voice shaking. He hasn’t seen her in so, _so_ long, and Wangho regrets not having cherished her enough when she was alive. She smiles brightly at him, and _oh_ , he’s _missed_ it, even misses her nagging. “Mom,” He cries, standing up and burying his face in her shoulder.

 

“Wangho-ya?” His mom asks, perplexed. “Are you okay? Is something wrong? Do you have second thoughts?”

 

Wangho shakes his head. “No, I’m just-” He chokes, tightening his arms around his mother’s frame. Has she always been this skinny, or has he just forgotten what she felt like? “I love you, mom. Thank you for being here.”

 

His mother laughs, and even though he can still hear the confusion in her voice she stays quiet on that subject, just pulls away and takes his face in between her palms. “Wangho-ya,” She says, looking a little tearful. “You’ll be okay. Whatever it is, don’t be scared. Sungu’ll take good care of you.”

 

He blinks rapidly to stop the tears from falling, but fails. “Yeah,” He manages to get out, nodding. “I know he will.”

 

The light starts to brighten again, and Wangho gasps, moving forward to wrap his mother in his arms before he’s snatched away.

 

“Morning, sleepy head.”

 

Wangho gasps, eyes flying open as he shoots upright. He looks wildly around him, panicked gaze meeting a - heartachingly so - familiar worried one.

 

“What’s wrong?” Sungu asks, reaching out with one hand to gently caress Wangho’s cheek. “Did you have a nightmare?”

 

Wangho looks down at his hands, which aren’t and wrinkled anymore, then up at Sungu’s face, forehead creased with sorry and eyes - warm and brown and _beautiful_ \- searching his own features. “No, I,” He swallows. “I’m just. Not fully awake yet.”

 

Sungu laughs, then leans forward to kiss his forehead. Pain sears through Wangho, and he reaches out to grab Sungu’s shirt when the other boy pulls away, using it as leverage to pull Sungu back and kiss him desperately.

 

Ah, Wangho thinks. It’s been decades, Sungu-ya.

 

“Someone’s eager today,” Sungu comments when they part, nuzzling his nose against Wangho’s. It’s so stupidly, disgustingly _domestic_ , and Wangho _hurts_. “As much as I love you, though, that bad breath of yours is atrocious. Go brush your teeth first before coming out for breakfast.”

 

Sungu climbs out of bed with a grin. Wangho wants to reach out to grab him again, but finds that this time, he can’t. Sungu’s back, like then, is tall and imposing, and he’s walking away from Wangho again. He’s leaving, and Wangho is paralyzed, can do nothing to stop him.

 

Sungu’s name dies on the tip of his tongue, and the doorway that Sungu disappears through is filled with light.

 

He comes back to himself in yet another suit, this one different from the last. He feels an arm around his waist, and tilts his head up to see Sungu grinning down at him. “Welcome back to earth, astronaut,” He teases.

 

“Hi,” Wangho replies, breathless at how good Sungu looks. “Sorry I spaced out.”

 

Sungu laughs, tugging him closer. “Mm, I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” He hums. “This isn’t _my_ engagement party, after all. _I_ already married the love of my life.”

 

Wangho flushes a bright red, and his throat tightens up. He doesn’t know how their wedding went, doesn’t know what their married life is like, apart from that one small glimpse he was provided. Sungu looks so _happy,_  here, and it’s so different to the Sungu that walked away from him that winter, so many years ago, heartache on his face and fatigue in the line of his body.

 

“Wangho, Sungu.”

 

Wangho looks up to see Gyeonghwan standing in front of them. The man smiles, politeness and grace etched into his smile. “Thank you both so much for coming. I know you don’t live in Seoul; it must have been quite a drive to get here.”

 

Sungu waves him off, for which Wangho is grateful for, considering he has no idea what Gyeonghwan is talking about. Sungu’s voice echoes in his head, _engagement party_ , and Wangho’s eyes flick to the man standing next to Gyeonghwan, tucked into him with one arm wrapped as possessively around his waist as the way Sungu’s is wrapped around his. “It wasn’t that long a drive,” Sungu says, grinning. “Besides, Wangho just slept the entire time.”

 

“Sungu!” Wangho protests, heat crawling up his cheeks. Sungu laughs, expertly dodging the hit that Wangho sends his way. Gyeonghwan’s laughing too, as is his fiance, and it’s only then that Wangho realizes that it’s Lee Jaeha standing next to Gyeonghwan.  

 

The couple move on, presumably to greet their other guests. Sungu leads the way to the buffet table (Wangho should have expected this, honestly) and his husband - his _husband_ \- hands him a champagne flute before taking a glass of water for himself. “Lightweight,” Wangho teases him, and Sungu makes a whining sound in the back of his throat.

 

“I have to drive us back after this,” Sungu protests. “How dare you call me a lightweight.”

 

“Am I wrong?” Wangho asks, grinning.

 

Sungu doesn’t deign to answer, choosing instead to pout into his glass of water. Wangho giggles, standing up on the tips of his toes to press a kiss to Sungu’s cheek. His husband catches him around the waist again, then, whispering into his ear. “You know? I think our engagement party was better.”

 

Wangho snorts, but looks up at Sungu with something akin to stars in his eyes, and smiles, before he’s consumed by light, Sungu’s tender expression seared into his mind.

 

Wangho finds himself on a beach, next, chest heaving with sobs. He’s crying, but he doesn’t know _why_ he’s crying. He just knows that he’s overwhelming, frustratingly _sad_. He can feel Sungu’s arms around his shoulders, knows that his husband is probably comforting him through the reason he’s sobbing.

 

“It’s okay,” Sungu says softly, lips pressed against the crown of his head. “It’ll be okay. Jongin hyung is strong, he’ll be okay by himself, Wangho-ya.”

 

“I,” Wangho hiccups, and grief seems to overwhelm him. He’s confused, mostly, but unable to stop the tears from coming. Sungu doesn’t seems to notice, and Wangho’s glad for that, at least. It wouldn’t be the best time to explain to Sungu that he wasn’t actually his husband, that he was just someone living an alternate timeline where he had been brave enough to make choices he hadn’t made in the life he had lived.

 

“Bumhyeon hyung’ll be watching over all of us, you know that,” Sungu murmurs, and _oh_ , Wangho thinks. If there was one thing he was glad for, then, was that Bumhyeon had lived a long life with Jongin in the life he’d led. It was something that had always eaten at him, despite being happy for the both of them. That Jongin had been brave enough to do what he hadn’t.

 

Then it _hits_ him, that Bumhyeon’s _gone_. Prematurely, it seems, at that. His skin isn’t wrinkled, and Sungu still looks relatively young, albeit with lines in the corners of his eyes. And while he knows that that’s not how it went in the life he had chosen for himself, he remembers what it had been like when Bumhyeon had passed on, when he had been 73 and Bumhyeon 77. He remembers the funeral, remembers Bumhyeon’s voice telling him not to cry, he was so old already, silly, and Wangho _cries._  Had Bumhyeon hyung been happy when he passed, in this life? Had he accomplished all that he wanted to do? Had he led a blissful life with Jongin hyung? Had he had _time_ to?

 

He hadn’t had Sungu with him, then. His wife had been with him, as had his children, come to pay their respects to someone they knew only as Wangho’s close friend. They hadn’t spent time with him like Sungu had, didn’t _know_ Bumhyeon, and Wangho throws himself into Sungu’s arms. Sungu’s shaking too, he realizes, and _ah,_  Sungu had loved Bumhyeon too. Who hadn’t? He had touched so many lives, changed multiple amongst that. Who _hadn’t_ loved Bumhyeon?

 

“Hyung will-” Wangho hiccups. “Hyung will always be watching over us,” He agrees. It was _Bumhyeon_ they were talking about, after all. He would always be taking care of the people around him.

 

“Yes,” Sungu says, voice breaking. “He’ll be okay, and we’ll be okay, too. Because he’s looking out for us.”

 

Wangho squeezes his eyes shut, then unwilling to let go, when he sees the light coming. “Sungu, I-”

 

He’s torn away from Sungu before he can say anything else, and honestly, he’s not sure what he was trying to say in the first place.

 

“Papa, papa, wake up! Appa made _waffles_!”

 

He wakes up, searing pain on one side of his abdomen. He sits up, clutching his side and blinking blearily at what appears to be a tiny human jumping up and down on his bed. He stares at what _is_ a tiny human jumping up and down on his bed - and calling him _papa,_  for that matter -  in confusion.

 

“ _Kang Bumhyeon_ ,” Sungu’s voice scolds as he walks into the room, and the tiny child quickly gasps and hides behind Wangho. “What did I tell you about waking your papa, _and_ about jumping on the bed?”

 

The child - _Bumhyeon_ \- avoids Sungu’s attempts at grabbing him by quickly dodging behind Wangho, and Wangho laughs and tries to stop Sungu from reprimanding who he assumes is their adopted child. He turns to look affectionately at the boy. It was so like Sungu to agree to naming their child after someone important to Wangho.

 

“ _W_ _angho,"_  Sungu admonishes, frowning. “He should know better.”

 

“He’s just excited, Sungu-ya,” Wangho smiles, turning to ruffle his adoptive son’s hair. The boy is cute, missing one front tooth, and beaming up at Wangho for - presumably - standing up for him in front of his appa. “He said you made waffles for breakfast. Everyone gets excited for waffles, don’t they, Bumhyeon-ah?”

 

“ _Yeah_!” Bumhyeon agrees, nodding vehemently. “It’s _waffles_! And they’re _appa’s_ waffles!”

 

Sungu’s face softens, and he walks closer to sit on the bed. “But still,” He says, voice stern. “What did I tell you about jumping on the bed?”

 

Bumhyeon looks properly chastised, and looks forlornly down at his hands. “That we shouldn’t jump on the bed, appa. B-Bumhyeon is sorry, really! Bumhyeon won’t do it ever again!”

 

“And what about waking papa up?”

 

“T-That papa needs his sleep and I shouldn’t wake papa up before he’s ready to get up…” Bumhyeon replies, voice getting softer and softer with each word. “Bumhyeon won’t do it again, appa, please don’t be mad at Bumhyeon…”

 

Sungu rears up, then, scooping Bumhyeon up from the mattress and blowing a raspberry into his tummy. Bumhyeon shrieks, at first from fear, then from exhilaration when Sungu lifts him higher into the air. “Appa, _appa_!”

 

Wangho laughs, watching his husband and his son have fun. His side is still smarting, but he knows if he shows any sign of pain Sungu will just get upset, and so he stays where he is, basking in the moment he knows he should never have had access to.

 

The phone rings, then, and Wangho gets up to go pick it up as Sungu lets their screaming child back down onto the bed. He walks out of the doorway of their bedroom, and everything disappears.

 

He finds himself almost where he started: in a hospital. Only this time, he’s the one standing at the foot of the bed, and Sungu’s the one lying on the bed. There’s a man standing next to the bed, covering Sungu with the hospital provided blanket. That must be Bumhyeon, then, all grown up, now.

 

“Appa,” Bumhyeon says. “I have to head to work now. Remember to take your medicine, okay? I’ll be back to see you once I get off work.”

 

“Yes, of course. Stay safe, Bumhyeon-ah,” Sungu says, and his voice is rough, like sandpaper. Wangho moves closer to Sungu as Bumhyeon leaves after giving Sungu’s hand a squeeze and Wangho a hug.

 

“How’re you feeling?” Wangho asks, and even his own voice is shaky, as though from lack of use. He sits in the cold, plastic chair provided by the hospital, and takes one of Sungu’s wrinkled hands in his own.

 

Sungu snorts, or attempts to, because he ends up in a coughing fit that has the nurses rushing in to see if everything’s okay. It lasts a good 3 minutes or so, and Wangho doesn’t know what he can do to help, feeling useless even as he panics.

 

When the coughing fit finally lets up, Sungu smiles weakly at Wangho. “Like shit, honestly,” Sungu sighs, but his grip on Wangho’s hand is firm. “I don’t want to be here, Wangho-ya. I want to go home, back to Taean. If I’m going to die I want to die by the seaside, in the house I spent my life in with you. Not here, Wangho-ya, not in this cold, foreign hospital.”

 

“You’re not going to _die_ , idiot,” Wangho retorts, and isn’t this ironic, considering the only reason that Wangho is here is because he _himself_ had died, and this was the one chance he was given to see the what-ifs and could-have-beens.

 

“I don’t have long left, you know that,” Sungu says, voice pleading and eyes beseeching. “Please. If I have to go I want to go at home.”

 

Wangho’s throat is dry, and he sighs, knowing nothing he says will be able to convince Sungu when he’s got an idea in his head. “I’ll try to get you discharged. I’ll talk to Bumhyeon, or the doctors, if I have to.”

 

Sungu beams at him, and even here, old and frail, it’s still bright, like the sun, and sends Wangho’s heart into overdrive. As the light threatens to overwhelm him, he hears Sungu’s voice, barely catching his words of: “Thank you, Wangho-ya.”

 

“Welcome back.”

 

Wangho looks up to see that person again, the splitting image of himself, standing in front of him. “You’ve had quite a journey,” They note, smiling. “Unfortunately, that’s all that we have time for; we’ve arrived.”

 

Wangho looks around him. There’s not much here, all things considered. It looks like they’re on a beach at sunset, except there’s a bridge close to where they’re standing, leading somewhere Wangho can’t see. There are quite a lot of _people_ here, though, milling about, as though with nothing to do. Wangho supposes they wouldn’t _have_ much to do; it’s not like there’s any entertainment around.

 

“Once you cross this bridge,” The person informs. “There is no saying where you’ll end up. So, if there’s anyone you’re waiting for,” And they give him a pointed look, here, one that makes Wangho feel as though he’s being thoroughly seen through. “You can choose to wait for them here.”

 

Wangho opens his mouth almost immediately, but the person holds up a hand to stop him. “ _However_ ,” They say. “They will not know you are waiting for them. They will only have the option to choose to wait themselves, and if you are both waiting, then you will be able to meet. You can, of course, choose to cross the bridge alone at any time.”

 

So Wangho could be waiting forever and Sungu might never turn up. He curls his hands into fists, swallowing. What were the chances of Sungu choosing to wait for him, too?

 

Wangho had been a coward, so many years ago, when Sungu had offered to stay, had asked for Wangho to stay, too. Sungu had held out his hand for Wangho to take, and Wangho had shaken his head and refused that hand, watched mutely as Sungu walked away from him.

 

His mouth moves of its own accord, and the words are out of his mouth before his brain can even process them. “I’ll wait.”

 

The person smiles, and nods. “Then I bid you farewell, Han Wangho.” They bow deeply, one hand placed gently on his chest, and vanishes.

 

Wangho looks around him, at the many people walking aimlessly at the edge of the sea, and takes a deep breath, then exhales it slowly. “I hope I still have a chance, Sungu-ya,” He says, softly, then begins a trek of his own.

 

* * *

 

Wangho’s sitting at the edge of the ocean, feet dipped into the cool water. It’s dusk, here, eternally, as Wangho has learned. He’s not sure how long he’s been here, exactly. He’s made some friends, talked to some of the other people here, learned their stories and shared their pain.

 

Today, however, he just wants to be alone, and had requested as such from his new acquaintances.

 

He hears footsteps behind him, and he sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m not really in the mood to be talking to anyone right now.”

 

“Are you ever?”

 

Wangho freezes up immediately, eyes widening. He refuses to turn around, afraid of what he’ll see. Warm arms wrap around his shoulders from behind, and a very familiar nuzzle against his cheek has him trembling.

 

“You waited for me,” Kang Sungu says, voice soft and tremulous. “I had hoped, but… I didn’t think you would have.”

 

Wangho spins around, then, throwing himself at Sungu and hiding his face in his chest. Sungu is sent flying backwards onto the sand, and he hisses, wincing. “I’m sorry,” Wangho gasps, sitting up. He takes the time to just _look_ at Sungu, at the wrinkles on his face, crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and laugh lines, at the familiar fond exasperation in his eyes. “Sungu, I-”

 

Sungu shakes his head. “I don’t want apologies. That was the last thing you said to me, too, that very last day. I’m tired of apologies.”

 

Wangho swallows, then, at Sungu’s expectant expression. He knows what it is Sungu wants to hear. He hadn’t been brave enough, back then. He had to brave enough now. He’d chosen to wait, hadn’t he?

 

“I love you.”

 

Sungu breaks into the biggest, _brightest_ smile, and he laughs, one hand coming forward to pinch Wangho’s cheek gently. There’s something glinting in his eyes, like relief, like pain, and Wangho hates that he’s the one who put that there. “Fucking _finally_ ,” Sungu laughs, getting up onto his feet and tugging Wangho up with him. “I love you, too.”

 

Wangho beams, the words echoing in his head and spreading warmth through his body, from his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers. He takes Sungu’s hand, and Sungu leads them, as he always does.

 

The first step onto the bridge, hand in hand, is terrifying. Wangho isn’t sure what’s going to happen, and neither is Sungu. As they continue to walk, though, the sun starts to set, and they’re plunged into darkness, only the light of the stars guiding their trek.

 

“Hey, Wangho-ya?” Sungu asks, and Wangho turns to look at him, only to realize that it’s Sungu’s 21 year old face beaming at him. Wangho glances down at his own hands, and they’re no longer wrinkly, but smooth, like they had been on the day he turned Sungu away. Sungu’s expression is tender, when Wangho turns his attention back to him. “Thank you for waiting.”

 

Wangho _aches_ , knowing that he should be the one saying those words. He shakes his head and tightens his grip on Sungu’s hand. He still can’t see where the bridge is leading them, but, he thinks, if it’s with Sungu… If he’s with Sungu, he’ll be okay.

  
“No,” Wangho replies, _sotto voce_. “Thank _you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> it's been so long since i posted a fic that i've forgotten how to do it ^^;
> 
> regardless, thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoyed coming along with wangho on his journey \o/
> 
> the idea for this fic came about when i was watching jewel in the palace, or _dae jang geum_ , when a character by the name of keumyoung is cast out of the palace and meets the man she's loved since she was a child for the last time. he apologizes to her, and just before she leaves, she tells him that if they were ever to meet again in another life, to say anything but those words to her. this scene inspired the very ending of the fic, where sungu tells wangho he doesn't want any more apologies, and i really wanted to write something from it; the rest of it just fell into place.


End file.
